1976 - Working Girls

Most of the women I've known have worked in some profession - in one way or another.

1976 – Working Girls

She lay on her side on my living room floor in panties and bra. Little white bikinis. Low-cut lacy black semi-transparent bra that barely held her in place. Who was this mysterious woman? How did she get on my living room floor? Why did she tell my girlfriend she knew me & why had she called me by name?

It was just a little after 1:30 AM on a Saturday morning when I got the call. My live-in girlfriend was on the other end. “What the hell is going on? I’ve got a drunken woman here sitting on our couch asking for you! Get your ass home right now!” As I was ½ a block away and had no idea of who or what she going on about, I hit the exit running and made the block home in under two minutes. My girlfriend, Barbara, greeted me at the door. Her long red hair whipped over her face as she turned toward our bedroom and threw a parting comment over her stiff back, “She woke me up. Take care of this and get her out of here. I’m going back to bed!” She headed down the hall towards the darkened bedroom.

Turning the corner into the tiny living room I saw her immediately as she was in the first paragraph above. Mostly undressed in tiny white bikini panties and semi-transparent little lacy brassiere that left almost nothing to the imagination. I nudged her with my foot…nothing. Bending over I placed my hand on her shoulder and shook it for a few seconds…nada. The smell of Tequila told me she was quite obviously passed out and was not going to be awakening any time soon. In her sleep she moved to a more comfortable position that was even more revealing. It may have been more comfortable for her but it made me even more uncomfortable. I always thoroughly enjoyed the sight of revealing clothing on women but this was somewhat distracting at a time when I didn’t really need the distraction. I took a good look at her face. She didn’t ring a bell in my memory and I had no idea how she knew my name or why she was knocking on my door. I tried awakening her a couple more times becoming increasingly more persistent but she had no reaction whatsoever. Her lungs were filling and emptying in a most pleasing way so I was sure she was still alive and there was no need to worry on that account but I still didn’t know anything about her or why she was here.

I placed a pillow from the couch under her head. Grabbing the throw off the back of the couch I covered her and contemplated my recourse. I could have called the police, and in fact now realize this is exactly what I should have done, but did not. As she was completely unconscious she was also completely harmless as she was. I dimmed the lights a bit and found a comfortable position overlooking San Diego Harbor, Point Loma and the airport, Lindberg Field. I looked out the window that overlooked the airport as I contemplated my next move. By now it was just after 2:00 AM and at this hour the blue lights on the runway were subdued and the flashing control-tower light, a few cars slowly cruising empty city streets and business night-lights were the only indication that the city was still alive. The light-house at the end of Point Loma swung through it orbit illuminating the underside of the occasional low cloud. It was a clear mid-summer night and windows were open to the weather and sounds of the outside. The sounds of the freeway immediately below my window permeated the room. All else was silence except for petite snores coming from my floor.

Eventually I began to grow drowsy due to the late hour and eventually fell into a series of fitful naps, waking automatically every so often to check on the condition of the attractive figure on my living room floor. I was full of questions, none of which could be answered at the moment. Rousing myself slightly I looked at her and noticed she was, although asleep and her face contorted by her arm and position, exceptionally beautiful. As I reflected on this my visitor again moved in her sleep to a more comfortable position on her back which pushed the blanket aside and exposed what was, essentially a complete breast fallen completely out of her brassiere. I raised an eyebrow and gazed from my comfortable position on the couch. It was evidently chilly as well as indicated by the usual physical response to the slight breeze that blew through the open window. I unwound my body, reached down and covered her back up. I did this as much, or more, to ease my discomfort as for her comfort. She now looked somewhat familiar at rest but I couldn’t place her in my recent experiences. She was obviously part or wholly Asian and reminded me a bit of the “girlfriend” I had in Taiwan when I celebrated my 21st birthday.

I thought of Taiwan.

As we first approached the island of Taiwan, or Formosa, I could smell the new odors of this port a mile at sea. The fascinating smells of each port gave a different exotic feeling and an individual scent-memory of the port. In 1971 Kaoshung had all of the industrial smells of a developing country as well as all of the odors unique to this cultures use of varying foods, spices and methods of preparation. There was also the usual odor of raw sewage which seemed to be a background odor in many of the places we visited due to their open air methods of routing sewage either to processing or, more likely, straight into the ocean. Here it didn’t permeate the air as it did in many ports as, over everything else, was a sweet smell of blooming flowers of some kind which lent an exotic aroma to the breeze. The ocean was shallow enough to be a lovely aqua-blue-green. The air was calm and the white seabirds shone in the low sun as they swooped and followed in our wake. With the sun behind us the lovely and verdant greens, reds and yellows of crops set on beautifully terraced mountainsides fairly glowed with color. They had probably looked this way for generations. The view was as lovely as any painting and, being real, absolutely stunning in its beauty. HD: Eat your heart out. As we approached the sounds of an active working port came to our ears although there was a low background sound of late-60’s music coming from some unidentifiable source.

Merle, Albert and I headed out to have a couple of drinks in one of the downtown nightclubs. We hadn’t been there very long when we were greeted by a couple of girls that worked for the bar. They’re job was to sell drinks but they were often, but not always, available for dating as long as the conditions of their contract was met. According to this contract, which I still have, anyone wanting to date the young lady had to compensate the bar for the amount they were expected to bring in that evening…usually around $10-$20.

Sophie was lovely with long dark hair and a sweet laugh. We started “dating” my first time on this lovely island. She was just an inch shorter than me and knew enough ballroom dancing to make the occasional underarm-turn or waltz a delight to dance. She frequented a night-club that had a rocking band and knew of an ice-cream parlor which served some of the most exotic flavors of ice-cream and sherbet I’ve ever tasted. The taste of Magnolia Blossom or Ginger/Mango/Star-Fruit was unbelievably rich. Sophie and I had plenty of great times before I went back to sea.

She awaited our next arrival on the dock, somehow knowing which ships were coming into port & when. I say “somehow” as American ships movements in the Asian Theatre were classified so our opponents in that conflict would not know which ship was where; or when a specific vessel was due to be relieved or the area in question was temporarily uncovered by a warship.

The second time in Taiwan I happened to turn 21-years old. Merle joined Sophie and me for an evening at her work-place during which he let it slip that my birthday was that day. As the drinking age is…younger than I was…it wasn’t as particularly special day for me. It was special enough to simply be back in port after 45-days at sea with 3-weeks at Yankee Station in the Northern Pacific followed by 3-more weeks on the gun-line off North Viet Nam.

This port was a further relief after our nearly causing of an international event by setting a course that took as between, as the Captain said “…that little island over there…” and mainland China. “That little island over there” turned out to be Hainan Island, part of Red China but the Captain, having a reputation for booking no disagreement or un-requested suggestion, had raised fear among the two junior Quartermasters who were responsible for finding our recommended course. In their reluctance to confront the Captain he remained uninformed. Enraged, my chief went out to the bridge in a royal-rage to rant at the Captain and the Quartermaster, both of whom took it pretty well when they realized fire-control radars were locked onto us with a steady tone – meaning they were ready to launch. We had several small fast-boats approaching but still dozens of miles off and still in Chinese waters where we would have been in 15-minutes if we had not changed course. After that incident and our many days at sea, just being in port with a lovely lady and friends was perfect without any celebration at all.

When the ladies discovered it was my birthday they insisted on buying me a cake and a special birthday meal. The cake was…interesting. A rice-flour cake frosted with a sweet-rice frosting. The taste was not unpleasant just…unusual…and not at all what I expected. I ate my piece offering the girls the leftovers which they were delighted to take home. Then they disappeared to buy my special birthday meal. The returned less than 5-minutes later with a plate of hot rice that had a generous dollop of raw fish…looked like minnows…laying in an indention in the center of the pile of rice. Now I’m a fairly nice guy and I’ve a fairly open mind when it comes to foreign cooking so, wanting to show my appreciation I began to s-l-o-w-l-y eat the meal. I was not a fan of either rice or fish, which I like better now but, then, only tolerated. I ate with some trepidation but had managed to get about ¼ of the plate finished before I was forced to pause for a while before taking up the chop sticks again. We talked for a few minutes before I glanced down at my plate…which was now full of rice and little wiggling fish. LITTLE WIGGLING FISH!! LIVE - LITTLE - WIGGLING - FISH!! Whoa! I backed up in the booth noting the situation to my companions. “Look! Little! Wiggling! Fish! Yuck!!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Sophie, “That good food.”

“Not for me! Yuck!” I looked at her, “Do you want it?”

“Sure!” She reached over and retrieved my plate which she proceeded to consume with relish. It was a special day.

I roused myself from my reverie and shook off the nap in which I had been engaged. The visitor sleeping on my living room floor moved and I glanced down. She was still safely covered. As I looked up I noticed a bit of light that indicated dawn was not far away. Traffic had increased on the freeway and the city was beginning to awaken. I glanced at the clock. The lighthouse continued to sweep the early dawn sky. I would have to leave for work in the next hour so it was time to make another attempt to awaken my guest.

I nudged her with my toe. She drew her shoulder away from me and made a little groaning sound, barely auditable. I reached down and shook her shoulder. One eye opened…closed. I shook her again, “Hey girl. It’s almost time to go.” She opened her eyes and looked up at me, silent. “I’m leaving for work soon and there is no way I’m going to leave you here with my girlfriend in the next room so you’re going along.” She sat up, stretched and yawned. She was mussed from sleeping, makeup faded and maybe a bit smeared around her eyes and her hair was pushed up on one side but overall she remained very comely. “I don’t know where you came from or how you knew my name but it’s time to go.”

“OK.” She said calmly and yawned again. “Gimme a minute and I’ll be ready.” She stood and began to get dressed showing no shyness at all as she adjusted herself in her bra and stooped to retrieve her skirt and top. “I’m sorry but I was abandoned on this block last night and I didn’t know where to go. I got your name from the mail-box.” That question was answered. “Can you drop me downtown?”

“Uhh, sure.” Anything to get her out of the house and away from our neighborhood. “How did you get abandoned here?”

“I had a job not far from here last night but when he took me home this was as far as he would take me.” I wondered aloud what kind of job would take her in this area late at night. She looked at me as though I was having trouble understanding English as she put her jacket on and headed for the door. “I had a job…a pick-up…” My blank stare gave away my innocence.

As we got into the car I asked again “Whom were you working for?”

I got the same look and a pause… “I have no idea…I’m a working girl.” She got nothing but a blank look from me. “…Hooker? …Prostitute?” Ok, I’m slow but finally I got it. We actually had an interesting conversation in the 10 minutes it took to get her downtown, but in the long run it was a story of a runaway who was too scared to go home and after a couple of years in this profession, too shamed. Drugs, a pimp and fear pretty much wrote the story of her life.

I thanked my lucky stars, as I dropped her off, that her story wasn’t one for anyone I was close to…as far as I know. I wished her luck. After her story – I’m absolutely sure she could use some luck.
Unfortunately, as we mostly make our own luck, I have serious doubts her life improved. I can only hope.